


Things Have Gone Heart Shaped

by Lottie



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: F/M, Female Character of Color, Fluff, Martin deserves to have something good to happen to him, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-11-10 01:33:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lottie/pseuds/Lottie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Douglas notices little changes in one Martin Crieff, the singularly most unlucky man he's ever met.</p><p>A series of interconnected one-shots</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flying High

**Author's Note:**

> Oh Jesus, um, this is the first piece of fanfiction I've written in almost ten years. I'm horribly rusty, but the urge to write overrode my common sense to stay out of other Gods' universes. I apologize in advance for my Americanisms. I do not have anyone to Brit-pick, and I also don't have a beta. Sorry. I feel like I should apologize for the length of it as well. It was just a little blurb floating around in my head that wouldn't leave me alone.
> 
> I may or may not leave this as a one shot. Though, maybe a series of one shots. My inspiration is a fickle beast.
> 
> Anyway, advice, critiques, constructive criticism, and comments are not only welcomed but encouraged.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin is smitten... secretly.

Douglas was the first to notice it after sharing a tiny hotel room in Germany with an even tinier bathroom. Martin appeared with a cloud of steam billowing out behind him. Douglas noted that Martin’s ribs were less prominent, and wondered if Icarus Removals was going well. Now that he thought about it, Douglas could not recall Martin complaining about money in recent months. He shrugged and put it out of his mind.

***

 

“Skip is awfully cheery today,” Arthur remarked, “ain’t you, Skipper?”

Martin hardly seemed to notice Arthur’s chatter as the steward passed out coffee. It was a simple cargo flight from London to Milan, and Douglas could not tell if Martin was unusually focused or terribly distracted.

“Is Sir contemplating the mysteries of the universe?”

“Hm?” Martin turned his head, eyeing his First Officer warily. “No… just… thinking.” He turned away as a blush spread across his cheeks.

Douglas’ eyebrows rose slightly. “Oh?”

Martin cleared his throat, opened his mouth to speak then shut it again hard enough to make his teeth click. More throat clearing. “I need a gift.” He grimaced. “I… I… it’s a-a-surprise. But I don’t know what to get.”

“Oh-ho, does Sir have love on the mind?” Douglas wagged his eyebrows suggestively. “Who is the lucky girl?”

“It’s no one! I mean it _is_ someone. A girl!” Martin could feel his cheeks heating up. “A woman… but she is younger than me. I… wanted to get her a gift.” He rubbed a hand across his face.

“You actually have a girlfriend?” A pause. “You have a _secret_ girlfriend?”

“She’s not a secret. I mean… not on purpose. She’s busy. I’m busy. Anyway, now you know.” Martin hunched his shoulders as if to protect himself from Douglas’ inevitable teasing.

Douglas stared at Martin for a moment, biting back the words on the tip of his tongue. He would have much more ammunition for long flights if he actually helped Martin with his problem. And maybe, in the process, he would get to meet the mystery woman that the Captain was obviously so smitten with. “I suppose you’ve thought about flowers? You should be able to afford some nice ones if you get a small bouquet… or scoop some out of the park.”

A deep rosy flush colored Martin’s face, making his freckles all the more noticeable. “Not everyone can smuggle fresh orchids,” he muttered, resolutely staring ahead. Douglas huffed out a small laugh.

***

 

Two weeks went by and Martin never mentioned his mystery girlfriend and not for lack of trying on Douglas’ part. He was nearly curious enough to bring Arthur into the fold and let the man-child’s boundless and relentless enthusiasm pry it out of Martin if only to shut him up.

It was Thursday and the crew had been on standby for almost a week. Usually Martin complained about not being able to schedule delivery jobs between flights, but he was oddly tightlipped about the subject. The day was spent with word games, and Douglas managed to rack up first picks at the cheese tray for a month. He could almost set a watch by Martin’s bad luck.

Heading toward his own car, Douglas noted the lack of Martin’s old, dilapidated van. The redhead was just standing quietly at the entrance of the lot. “Everything alright, Martin?” Douglas called. Any reply from Martin was drowned out a sleek black car with tinted windows pulling through the lot and parking a few spaces down from where MJN’s Captain stood.

With raised eyebrows, Douglas noted that the car was a Jaguar, and he wondered who Martin knew that drove such a vehicle. He also wondered if the younger man had gotten himself into some sort of trouble with the wrong people. Against his better judgment, he started toward Martin in purposeful strides. The driver side door opened and long leg accentuate by a black stiletto emerged from the Jag. “I’m sorry I’m late, darling.” Martin’s face lit up as the woman came into view.

Douglas was very surprised to find that Martin’s girlfriend was nothing like he imagined. He pictured a small, mousey girl with a sweet smile, a nervous laugh, and a penchant for jumpers. This woman was almost a head taller than Martin and had a figure that could only be described as curvaceous. Where Martin was fair and ruddy like a true ginger, his lady was dark—dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes. “Oh, this is my First Officer, Douglas Richardson.” The introduction brought Douglas back to present.

The woman extended her hand as Douglas took the necessary steps to bridge the gap between them. She had a firm handshake. “Greta Okafor,” she said with a smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “I’ve heard a lot about the stalwart sky god.”

“Only good things, I’m sure, madam.” Douglas put on his most charming smile, and Greta only laughed at him.

“Mostly,” she replied with a wink. During the exchange, Martin’s fingers ended up intertwined with those of her free hand. Greta squeezed his fingers. “I thought about having a little get together the first weekend of August. I’m interested in meeting the rest of the crew.”

“Oh, they would be _delighted_ to meet you as well.” He shot Martin an amused look.

Martin and Greta waited until farewells were exchanged and they thought Douglas was not looking before greeting each other properly. Martin raised himself up on his toes, and Greta swooped down to meet him halfway in a less than chaste kiss. Her fingers gently tugged at the ginger curls at the nape of his neck.

Douglas only shook his head before ducking into his own car. Young love, he mused. At least he would have plenty of material to harass Martin about on that trip to Tokyo next week.


	2. Boy Meets Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin meets Greta for the first time. It goes about how anyone would expect of the good captain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of I don't know how many. Again, this is not betaed and not Brit-picked. If there is anyone that would like to offer their help, I would appreciate it since I'm not really sure how to go about acquiring such services.
> 
> Comments, especially constructive criticisms, are welcomed.

Martin stared up at the ceiling, counting the rafters though he knew that there were seventeen. He could hear the soft patter of rain as it fell against the single, round window that allowed weak, gray light to filter through old, fraying curtains. There were no flights scheduled today and no moving jobs. He pressed his lips into a tight line, willing himself to think about anything other than flying or money. Eventually, he gave up and glanced at the stack of envelopes sitting on the rickety table by his bed. Some of them were notices from the property-owner, others were junk, advertisements, and statements for his empty bank account.

He was startled out of his reveries by a rather insistent knock at his door. With brows furrowed, Martin hauled himself up and crossed the cold, bare floor. Standing on the other side was one of the college students—Janie. She was a small thing with a big smile and an oversized jacket. “Martin, sorry to bother you, but I need your help. Bit of a problem with my car.” She tugged at her blonde hair. “Well, I know that you tinker around with your van a lot. Jack said you helped him with his last week. Can you just take a look. I can even give you a bit of money, yeah.”

“Um, yeah. Yeah, no problem.” Martin nodded, perking up with the thought of something to do. He almost left without his jacket, but Janie reminded him of the rain. He tugged on a dark hoodie that had definitely seen better days.

The rain did not look like it was going to let up any time soon. Spring was supposed to be on its way, but it was still cold, and Martin’s breath came out in small puffs of air. He pulled his hood down and stuffed his hands in his pockets as he trotted after Janie. Her car was probably as old as his van, but it looked less battered. The car only needed a jump, and that was simple enough. With a squeal of gratitude, Janie gave Martin ten pounds and hopped into the driver’s seat. She was off to visit her parents for the weekend.

Standing in the rain, Martin watched Janie drive off until he could not see her car anymore. A hollow, bereft feeling coiled in his stomach with a sudden ache. He did not want to go back up to his cold, empty, cramped room. This term’s students were a little less rowdy than the bunch from the previous year, and quite a few of them went off to visit friends and family over the weekend. Martin hardly spared a thought for his own family. They had lives of their own, and his hardly seemed to matter most of the time.

With a heavy sigh, he checked his pockets, finding a few more quid and some coins. He could always wander around town, maybe go to the bookstore to sit somewhere warm. Martin huddled into his hoodie, trying to hold onto any semblance of warmth. At least the bus would be shelter from the penetrating damp of the air.

***

 

His trainers squeaked a bit as he half jogged down the pavement. Most people would be inside, and what few people he passed were all better dressed for the weather and shielding themselves with umbrellas. Martin nearly passed a coffee shop, but the smell made him stop short. His stomach grumbled, and his fingers suddenly reminded him that they were mostly numb. He knew that he probably should not, but he ducked inside anyway.

The aroma of freshly roasted coffee enveloped him. There was also the lingering scent of pastries. Martin took a moment just to enjoy the heat trying to seep into his clothes. He pushed his hood back and tried to smooth down his unruly ginger curls with little success. He was not surprised to find the shop busy on such a dreary day. A small cup of coffee would not set him back much, a quid at most. Rubbing his hands together, he joined the queue for the counter. He rocked himself on the balls of his feet and generally fidgeted until it was his turn.

Coffee in hand, he turned around several times to find an empty seat and spotted one in a far corner. He wove around several people, muttering apologies along the way. He should have known that the universe would not let him enjoy something so simple and mundane as a cup of coffee. Walking around a small counter for condiments, Martin slipped in water that other patrons had tracked in before him, and crashed into a very solid figure rounding the counter from the opposite direction.

Martin lost his cup and fell in an ungraceful heap. The other person grabbed the edge of the counter to steady themselves. It took a few moments for Martin to work up the courage to open his eyes. He could already feel the heat rising across his cheeks. “Watch it!” the voice was heavy, slightly accented, and female.

“Sorry,” he blurted out. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t… I mean… It was an accident… It’s…” Martin drew in several quick, short breaths. “I… I… I…”

“Hey, hey. It’s fine. It’ll come out… hopefully.” Martin looked up at the woman, feeling absolutely mortified that he not only managed to spill his drink on her but her own drink as well. He could see the deep red of rooibos tea spreading across the tail of her shirt and down her right trouser leg. The dark stain of his coffee colored her chest. Despite her words, Martin felt that her cream colored outfit was probably ruined permanently.

He was surprised that she helped him to his feet, and was even more taken aback that she was able to pull him up so easily. Still wearing the scarlet blush of embarrassment, Martin blindly started gathering up napkins from a nearby dispenser. Feeling like he had to do something, anything, he tried to dab up some of the coffee from her shirt, and he spouted apologies the whole way. It took a moment for him to realize that she was not moving or speaking. He also realized that this woman stood six inches taller than him, and that he spent the last forty-five seconds pressing napkins to her breasts.

He snatched his hand back as though burned, and stared up at her with his mouth opening and closing as he mentally flailed for something to say. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. It suddenly became his mantra, and that was all he could think. Martin could easily imagine some big, angry, scary boyfriend ready to break his face or his legs or his arms or any part of him really. Carolyn would probably fire him if he ended up in the hospital in a full-body cast because he had the misfortune to grope a strange woman.

With a gulp, Martin prepared himself for verbal abuse at the very least. He risked another look at her, and he saw her wiping at her own clothes with a fistful of napkins. Her expression was a mixture of exasperation and resignation. Martin’s stomach churned when it dawned on him that he could not even afford to offer her anything to have her outfit dry cleaned; her clothing certainly looked expensive enough to warrant dry cleaning. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, feeling at a loss to do anything else.

She turned an annoyed expression at him, her dark eyes narrowing on him before releasing the look with a sigh. “I’m not hurt, and you’re fine. It happens.” There was no point in getting angry; that would change nothing, and she was nothing if not practical.

“I… could… could… tea. I could get you another tea. It’s the least I could do. I spilled yours. I mean I ran into you, but not on purpose. And the touching thing.” He drew in a shuddering breath. “I didn’t want to touch… I mean I didn’t on purpose… not you don’t have nice…” He made a cupping motion at his chest with both hands. “No, no… God, I meant… any man would want to touch your…” He trailed off with a cringe.

She stared at Martin for a full thirty seconds before laughing. Absently, he noted that it was a full, ringing sound; he liked it. “Breathe. No worries.” Her thoughts were already on home and changing out of sticky, wet clothes before going back to work. “I have to go. Be careful. You look accident prone. Cheers.”

“Martin,” he blurted out. His blush deepened to his ears. “I’m Martin. Martin Crieff.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Greta Okafor,” she replied as she started past him. With the click of her low, sensible heels, Greta was gone. Martin was left standing by the counter feeling like an absolute berk.

Martin forgot about the coffee shop incident after a couple of weeks. Carolyn had several flights scheduled close together, and while he loved flying, he regrettably had to cancel a few jobs for his side business despite it not being the sensible thing to do. He fretted over money but focused on piloting. If Douglas or anyone else noticed Martin’s unusually singular concentration, no one said anything.

***

 

Martin had been squeezing in as many moving jobs as he physically was capable of handling. With a break in his schedule with MJN, he needed to pick up as much money as he could while he could. The old van was holding up—barely. With a breakfast of toast and tea (given to him by Janie), he was out the door by nine for the first of three jobs.

The morning was dreary and cold, and Martin shivered in a gray hoodie that had holes in the elbows. The weather man on the radio promised a warm day, one of the firsts for the year. With a sigh that curled around him in a cloud, he jogged across the lot toward his van.

The first job went smoothly enough. His client was an elderly man that needed some furniture delivered to his newly married granddaughter. He spent the entire drive praying to any divine being that would listen in hopes that his van would hold out for the day. The second job was helping a young couple move from their flat to their new house at the edge of town. Martin briefly wondered what it would be like to start a new chapter in his life with someone to come home to, to listen to him talk about his day, to have a warm body next to him in bed. A pang of loneliness settled around his heart, but he shook off the feeling with thoughts of a hard day’s work and some extra money in his pocket.

He knew that his luck could not hold. It never did. On the way to his third job (hauling boxes to a storage unit), his client cancelled. Martin almost argued with the man, knowing that he needed the money. He pulled his van over to the side of the street, killed the engine, and laid his head on the steering wheel. Crying would not solve anything, but Martin desperately wanted to shed some of his frustration.

He looked to the left, noting the coffee shop he visited a few weeks ago. The image of the tall, dark woman filled his mind. He remembered that her name was Greta. As if summoned, she appeared in the shop’s window, taking a seat in front of it. She shuffled through some papers, distractedly drinking from a teacup. Martin bit his lower lip, feeling nervous despite that fact that there was no one around to witness his silent shame. He almost started the van again, deciding to just head home, but he could not help but watch Greta for a moment.

His feet seemed to have a mind of their own because before Martin could question or comprehend what he was doing, he was already inside the coffee shop. His bright eyes darted around, noting that it was slow. He stood behind a large sign a few feet from the door, pretending to read the menu posted there. Martin glanced at Greta again. She was wearing black and white today—a high waist skirt with a smart blouse. Her black hair was curled slightly and pinned back with gold clips that were shaped like flowers. Martin thought she was beautiful, and his cheeks burned.

Martin inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled through his mouth; he did this several times. There was no queue for the front counter, and he marched purposefully toward the young woman at the register. He managed to order a cup of coffee without making a fool of himself. After he had the drink, he found that he did not know what to do with it. He had wanted to buy Greta…something. At least, those were his half-baked intentions. Staring at the black liquid, he wondered if she even drank coffee; most people did. Mentally scrambling, he recalled that most of the girls that were housed in his building over the years put cream and sugar in their coffee.

Too much cream and sugar later, Martin presented the drink to Greta without a word. In fact, the whole time that he was in the shop, she had yet to look up from her papers. Her tea was half finished and long cold. “Hi,” he squeaked, still holding out the coffee.

Greta looked up at him, her brows crinkling in confusion before she recognized Martin. Her gaze followed the length of his arm to the cup presented to her. “I… thank you.” She sounded unsure but took the drink anyway.

Martin visibly sagged in relief. “For the one I spilled. I-I know the other one was tea. I should’ve got tea.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. Again. I’m Martin… in case you forgot. I wouldn’t expect you to remember. No one would really. I—”

Greta interrupted. “Would you like to sit down?” She stacked the documents in front of her then slid them into a briefcase. Wordlessly, Martin sat in the chair across from her. “And I do remember. Ginger curls, stammer, and blush.” There was a teasing lilt to her voice, and Martin did not know how to respond. “Thanks, anyway.” She looked down at the cup, and found that she did not have the heart to tell him that she took her coffee straight black. Greta took a gulp of the cooling coffee, and congratulated herself on not wrinkling her nose in distaste.

“Ah, um… those papers looked important.” Martin twisted his fingers in the folds of his hoodie, which made him painfully aware at how shabby he looked. “What do you do? If you don’t mind telling me.” He looked down.

“Investment banking,” she replied then risked another sip of coffee.

Martin’s eyes widen slightly. “That sounds…” Important. Posh. Affluent. “Good.” He suddenly wished that he had a drink so that he could do something with his hands. “I’m a pilot.” He straightened up. “I pilot an aeroplane. I’m… the captain. Captain Martin Crieff.” He was startled in her sudden interest.

“What airline?” The over-sweet coffee was starting to grow on her in a way that made her teeth ache.

“Charter company. It’s small. Small. You’ve never heard of it, I’m sure.” He laughed nervously. “MJN Air. Well, airdot, really.”

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Airdot?”

“It’s just the one aeroplane.” He nodded. “But it’s good. Flying. Seeing the world.” Martin felt she was unimpressed.

“And you love it.” Greta leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs. Martin was secretly pleased that she was holding onto the coffee.

“Flying’s brilliant!” Martin exclaimed then quickly recoiled in embarrassment. A deep, ruddy blush spread across his face. He wanted nothing more than to curl up and die, and maybe take Arthur with him.

She laughed. “I would like to hear more about it.”

“I’m sorry. What?” He blinked slowly then felt the first tendrils of anxiety coupled with shame slither along his spine. “I… it’s a job. A good one.” Was she mocking him? _No one_ ever wanted to hear him talk about aeroplanes and flying, not even people that worked the airfields or flew planes. “I do like it. It’s a respectable job, and I’m a proper pilot.” He squared his shoulders.

“Then we can discuss it over dinner. Say… Friday, if you’re not too busy.” Greta glossed over his indignation. She pulled a card out of her briefcase and wrote on the back of it. “My number.” She slid it across the table before getting to her feet. “I have to go. Meetings to prepare for. Call me.” She left him with an amused but warm smile.

Martin stared dumbly at the card, his eyes wide in shock. Did he just get a date? He blinked slowly. A woman asked **him** out. On a date. As in the two of them. He blinked again then picked up the card. It was her business card with various ways of contacting her office, and on the back of it, was her personal mobile number. He, Martin Crieff, had a date with a beautiful woman.

Martin was on autopilot as he went through the motions of getting home. That night, once he was in bed, the shock started to wear off, and it was replaced with a new feeling. Pure, utter, absolute, unadulterated panic.


	3. It's A Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin and Greta's first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not Brit-picked or betaed. All mistakes are mine, and I apologize.

It took Martin three days to work up the nerve to call Greta. It was a Thursday, and he waited until six in the evening. He remembered that her office closed at five, having read and reread her business card a hundred times. The phone rang three times before Greta’s voice greeted him. “Hello? Greta?” Martin inwardly cursed how unsure he sounded.

“Yes.” A pause. “Hello, Martin.” There was a hint of amusement in her tone. “I was wondering if you were going to call me. My brothers always say I come off a bit too forward.”

“No, no. I mean yes, I was going to call you. I wanted to call you.” He drew in a shuddering breath. “Should I have called earlier? You already have plans for tomorrow, don’t you? It’s okay if you do. When can go out another time. Or not at all. Whatever you want…” He trailed off with a nervous laugh. Martin hated that he could not even keep it together over the phone.

“Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to go to the museum on Saturday. There is an aviation exhibit right now.” Greta was sitting curled up on her couch, brochure in hand. She figured that she had to be a couple of steps ahead of Martin, and she had to admit, she found his passion for flying rather endearing.

“Oh, yes. Yes. That’s… good.” He nodded even though he could not see her. They agreed upon a time (noon) and a meeting place (a bistro a block away from the museum). Martin rang off feeling an odd mixture of elation and nausea. All at once the uncertainties and questions piled up in his mind. He did not know what to wear. He already knew that he was going to make a right fool of himself. A niggling, mean voice in the back of head told him that once Greta found out piloting was actually hobby and that driving a van that was falling to pieces was his actual job, she was going to drop him.

***

 

Martin wondered when he started to think of the students housed in his building as his, but he did. Jack was particularly helpful in making him look presentable, even let him borrow his black leather jacket. Janie gave him advice as she tried to tame his unruly red curls. She reminded him to be himself and that Greta would not have asked him out if she did not like Martin for who he was.

It wasn’t until he got into his van that Martin realize that someone (he suspected Janie) slipped a twenty pound note into his jacket pocket. A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, and for a shining moment he felt like this date was not doomed to fail.

***

 

The little café was just that, small, but cozy, almost intimate. Martin hunched into his borrowed jacket, ducking his head as he moved past small groups of people on the pavement. Greta was standing under the awning, and he thought it unfair that she looked so self-assured. While Martin wore jeans, his least battered pair of trainers, and a plain green tee-shirt, Greta looked professional as always in black trousers and a dark wine colored shirt that showed off a modest amount of cleavage. He could not help but note that she wore shoes with no heel, lessening the gap between them vertically.

He gave a shy wave as she looked toward him. A smile curved her lips. “Did you want to grab some lunch before we head out?” She gestured toward the door.

Inside, Martin only ordered tea, and Greta did the same though she bought a few scones to share. Remembering Janie’s advice, Martin straightened his back and caught her gaze. “You look…” He fished for a word. “Gorgeous.” It brought another smile to her face, and it only cost Martin a moderate flush to his cheeks.

“You look quite handsome yourself, captain.” She paused for tea. “Though I do rather like the usual mop of curls.” The product Janie had put in Martin’s hair was already losing the battle against his ginger curls. Their conversation was light, and Greta managed to strong-arm Martin into letting her buy sandwiches and crisps for lunch. He felt bad, but she seemed genuinely pleased to feed him.

By the time they got to the museum, Martin was practically vibrating with nerves. Greta had a strange way of making him feel both at ease and anxious at the same time. She had the rare gift of being able to smooth over Martin’s embarrassed rambling. Though inside museum, she let him spill out all he knew about aeroplanes and aviation.

Greta was interested in what he had to say, and Martin found it a novel experience. With every plane they passed, he conjured up some of the most obscure facts he could. She seemed particularly interested in the planes flown during the World Wars. He liked that her eyes did not glaze over when he spoke and that she had questions. The day passed them by in a hurry, and Martin did not want to go back to his empty attic room.

The museum staff had to eventually kicked them out, and they laughed at their stern faces. “Did you like it, truly? Really?” Martin huffed in amusement. “No one’s ever wanted to listen to me go on about planes.” His mercurial green eyes were bright as he looked up at her, and Greta knew that she wanted Martin to always wear that expression of such unguarded happiness.

“I had fun, Martin.” She tilted her head back, looking up at a sky slowing coming alive with stars. “I never really knew much about aeroplanes… never gave it much thought, I guess.”

“When I was really young, I wanted to be an aeroplane.” Martin cringed, wishing that he had not said that out loud.

Greta looked at him for a moment then laughed. “You would have been a exceptional plane.”

“You’re mocking me,” Martin replied quietly.

“No.” Greta shook her head. She reached out and touched his arm, stopping him. “You are sincerely passionate. “I think people forget that it’s important in life.”

“But it doesn’t pay the bills!” Martin suddenly felt frantic. “It took me seven goes to get my CPL. Seven! No one wants a pilot after that.” He tugged at his hair. “Carolyn doesn’t even pay me. God, I must seem pathetic.” He took a couple of steps back.

Greta looked truly startled by the outburst, but she recovered quickly. “I’m not exactly sure what you’re trying to tell me Martin.”

“That I’m no one! That’s why I can’t… can’t get a date.” He gestured between the two of them. “This… this was perfect. You’re funny and smart with a good job and you’re beautiful. Anyone would have to be mental to not date you. I live in a small attic room above a bunch of college students and drive a moving van to make some money.” The sigh he heaved seemed bigger than he was. “I didn’t want to lie to you, Greta.”

Greta pressed her lips into a tight line, and Martin could see the lines of tension around her eyes. He fully expected her to walk away. “I don’t care about the money. I don’t care about appearances or status. I had fun today, and I would like for us to do it again.”

Martin opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came forth. All the wind had been taken out of his sails. Her words had been so incongruous with what he had already cemented in his mind. “What?” he squeaked.

She shrugged. “You’re worried about the wrong things. You thought I wouldn’t like you because you’re not a wealthy pilot with a major airline. Honestly, I could tell that from the state of your clothes.” Martin felt shame burn across his face. “Do you really want to know why I asked you out?”

“Tell me,” he replied, his voice wavering. He already felt stupid and embarrassed, so it probably could not get any worse.

“Because you’re sweet. You’re honest even when you don’t mean to be. And you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.” A tight smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “If I wanted wealth and status, I would date someone from my firm or someone from a similar field. I deal with petty, shallow, back-stabbing, cruel people every day. That is business. That is money. I accept that.”

She sighed heavily. “You do what you love, Martin. I like that. Despite how hard everything is, how much you fought to get there, you’re doing what you _love_. Not many people can say that.” A rueful smile quirked her lips. “You think that investment bankers always wanted that for their career. Not many kids put on boring suits and tell everyone that’ll listen that they want to trade stocks or argue with companies over equity, mergers, and the economy.”

“What did you want to do? What did you want to be when you grew up?” Martin spoke softly, looking at everything but the woman standing in front of her.

“I wanted to dance.” Greta reached up and lifted Martin’s face toward her. “I wanted to dance ballet. My parents never supported the idea. I envy you Martin. Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re no one.” She kissed his cheek. “Call me, yeah?” He could only nod dumbly as she walked away.

***

 

Greta’s words buzzed around in Martin’s head for a long time, so loud that it drowned out all his other thoughts, and he could not sleep that night. He remembered little things about their day together. He could still smell the coconut oil that she used in her hair and on her skin; it was a scent that he would forever associate with Greta Okafor. He thought about the way that their hands had touched when they walked side by side. She would always lean toward him, drawing him in when she spoke or pointed at something. Greta had a way of making Martin feel as though she did not tower over him. He liked her laugh and the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled.

His stomach churned as he reminded himself that he had been a fool. Martin was so used to bad things happening that he had wanted to just jump to the conclusion that had appeared so unavoidable. But Greta still wanted to see him. A flicker of hope cut through the doubt.


	4. First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin gets laid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not Brit-picked or beta'd. I apologize.

After jumping the first date hurdle, Martin found it a little easier to breathe around Greta. He had no immediate plans for her to see his place or his van, but the latter could not be helped. Dates usually occurred in shared spaces like parks, cinemas, libraries (he discovered that she like mystery novels too), and the coffee shop where they first met. He could not help but gape and immediately feel impoverished when he discovered that she drove a Jaguar and that one of her suits was worth more than he made in months.

Her flat was of a sleek and modern design with lots of glass, steel, and monochrome. She admitted with a sheepish smile that she did not spend much time at home. Pictures of her family made the place look slightly more welcoming. Martin was interested in the photographs full of smiling faces. Greta was the middle of three, with a younger and older brother. Her parents looked happy, holding hands and sharing chaste kisses. Her grandparents looked more somber, a contrast to the brightly colored clothing they wore. “That was taken in their hometown in Nigeria.” Greta leaned over Martin’s shoulder, her cheek resting against his.

“Were you born there?”

“My family came to England when I was five. I’ve been back several times, though not since my grandparents came over.” She kissed his cheek. “Dinner is almost ready. Pray it’s edible.”

Martin grinned. “Maybe I should have cooked. If you give me food poisoning then I can’t fly out tomorrow.”

“You’re on to my insidious plan, captain.” She flashed him a cheesy wink over her shoulder.

***

 

Dinner was indeed edible, if a bit simple—rice and beef. Greta had to admit that cooking was not one of her greatest skills, much to her mother’s chagrin. Martin assured her that it was all fine, and that he should cook for her next time. He never had many ingredients to work with, but Martin enjoyed preparing food.

With his head in her lap, Greta ran her long fingers through Martin’s curls, occasionally winding them around her fingers. “Tell me about your family. You don’t talk about them much.” She could feel him tense.

“I, um… we’re not close. Not, not that I don’t care. It’s just that we never got on much. And well, you know. It happens. Just sorted drifted further apart after dad died.” Martin could not help the pang of remorse in the face of Greta’s tight-knit clan. “I’m the youngest of three. Simon is the oldest. And a prat. Then Caitlin. She just sort of has her own life. They’re both married. I’m an uncle.” He did not want to tell her that he hardly saw his nieces and nephew.

Greta continued to play with his hair, inwardly pleased at how much the curls stood on end. “I’m an aunt. Kaikara is the eldest. Married, one girl. Marcus is the youngest, has a partner, and thinking about adoption.” She slid her hand across his jaw, her thumb swiping across his lower lip. “My parents and all four grandparents live together. Kaikara and I support them.” Her nose crinkled in amusement. “I think my grandmothers would adore my little ginger pilot.”

Martin sputtered, turning red from his ears to his neck. “Greta!” She laughed. He huffed, crossing his arms across his chest. “You.. and your, your, tallness. You’re like 6’5.”

“6’2,” she paused, “and a half.” Martin’s unamused expression set her laughing again. “I’m freakishly tall compared to the rest of my family.”

“I like your tallness,” he admitted with a bit of reluctance. Martin did not mind being the little spoon. She pressed a kiss to his hairline. His fingers curled around the side of her neck, gently holding her in place as he tilted his head back to kiss her properly.

Greta broke the kiss with a smile and a nip at his nose. “Bedroom?” She looked confident, but for a second, she fretted. They had barely touched on such intimacies and had gotten no further than heated snogging and groping in two months.

Martin nodded, not trusting his voice since his throat decided to dry up. Feeling a momentary surge of self-confidence, he kissed her, her tongue moving along her lower lip until she permitted entrance. Greta made a pleased sound when his hand rested just under her breast. She placed a hand over his, pushing it up over her breast. She nipped along his lower lip, and he clumsily worked at the buttons on her shirt.

It took a bit of wrestling, fumbling, and an accidental elbow to the ribs to get from the couch to the threshold of Greta’s bedroom. Martin smoothed his hands along her bare sides. “Sorry,” he murmured against her shoulder. She laughed, assuring him that growing up with brothers taught her to take a hit or two. Her fingers curled around his belt loops, playfully pulling him in the room. She shut the door with her foot.

She swooped down to kiss him, effectively cutting off Martin’s chance to panic. Like the rest of her flat, her bedroom was a sleek and modern affair that looked almost unlived in; she hoped to change that starting with the bed. Greta pulled his belt from his trousers, and they sagged a bit around his hips. She explored that new bit of skin as Martin worked on her bra hooks. “Ha! Got it.” He momentarily looked triumphant as her bra slid down her arms.

She laughed in the crook of his neck. “Good job.” She bit his earlobe, making him squeak. It was Greta’s turn to be surprised when Martin spun her around. She hit the bed with a bounce and a pleasantly dazed expression. He climbed over her, swallowing down nervous anticipation. He kissed the hollow of her throat then across her collarbones and down to her left breast. The right one, he cupped in his hand, overly gentle with her flesh. Greta put her hand over his, showing him what she liked.

Martin took her left nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue over the hardening bud. Greta breathed out a pleased sigh, her fingers tangling in his hair. She worked herself out of her trousers as Martin turned his attention to her other breast; he placed sucking, opened-mouthed kisses there that made goosebumps tighten her nipples.

He pulled back, his hands sliding along wide hips and thick thighs. Martin fingered the paler lines stretched across her hips and disappeared between her legs. “You’re gorgeous.” Trembling but eager hands parted her legs. He carefully traced the folds of her before dipping a finger inside. She shuddered.

“More.” Greta spread her legs further. Emboldened, Martin slid another finger inside her. Her hand over his showed him where to rub. His thumb gently moved around her clit. Her hips pushed against him, and he knew he found the right spot when she gasped his name. Martin planted kisses along her right side until he reached her mouth again.

Martin swallowed her sighs and groans of pleasure. One hand gripped the sheets, and the other was clamped on his free arm. “M-martin… I’m…” He only moved faster. Greta came with a bitten off cry. Martin felt an intense surge in his groin, watching her hips jerk and her back arch inward.

Breathing in deeply, Greta curled her hands around Martin’s hips. “Come here.” She rolled them over, her legs astride him. He choked out a moan as her crotch pressed against his cock. There was a damp spot from their combined fluid. She quickly stripped Martin of his trousers and pants.

“P-p-pocket,” Martin gestured weakly to his trousers hanging off the side of the bed. He shuddered as her finger rubbed against the head of his cock. Greta used her other hand to pull out two packets of condoms. Despite what was going on between his legs, he blushed.

“Thought you were getting a leg over, did you, Captain Crieff?” She grinned. “Twice.”

“Greta… I…” She kissed him quiet.

“Lay back and enjoy the ride, darling.” She slid one of the condoms over him before straddling his hips.

The sight of her above him was almost enough to do Martin in right there. The sensation of her slowly impaling herself on his cock would be enough to fuel wank sessions for months. He knew he would not last long, not with Greta’s hips rolling against his. He grasped her thighs with enough force to bruise when he finally came, crying out for her and God.

***

 

Greta’s bed may have been the most comfortable surface Martin had ever laid on, though the company may have had something to do with it as well. She had her head pillowed on his shoulder, her long dark fingers playing connect-the-dots with his freckles. Martin wound a finger around a lock of her hair, happily breathing in the coconut scent that he would forever associate with Greta Okafor.


End file.
